


Jurassic Fuck

by panpinecone



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Animal Death, Bestiality, Egg Laying, Geographical Isolation, Homesickness, Kidnapping, Masturbation Interruptus, Nesting, Object Insertion, Ocean, Other, Oviposition, Painful Sex, Pterosaurs, Stockholm Syndrome, Stomach Ache
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 07:11:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4555461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panpinecone/pseuds/panpinecone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A surprise kidnapping changes Ocelot's life in every way imaginable. He's not certain he regrets any of it. (Written for a prompt from mgs_kink on Dreamwidth.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jurassic Fuck

**Author's Note:**

> The creature is a cross between a pterosaur and a modern bird, its species evolving in relative isolation over millions of years. Ocelot mistakenly refers to it as a dinosaur; pterosaurs are _not_ dinosaurs.
> 
> The last few scenes contain potentially triggering material regarding the destruction of fertilized eggs.
> 
> Betaing done by the lovely fractalspaces/LotusRox, and title expertly suggested by thatkindoffangirl.

**[Friday, October 4th, 1985 — 16:25]**

Weren’t Fridays supposed to be enjoyable or, failing that, at least tolerable?

Clearly that was a myth, thought Ocelot, because so far the day had been absolutely atrocious. Between training hopeless Diamond Dogs recruits on the basic fundamentals of aiming, and dealing with Kaz’s smarmy presence, Ocelot would much rather have gone along on one of the Boss’s missions, whether it meant scouting out an enemy base or picking flowers.

Granted, he’d much rather be doing just about _anything_ with the man, but his point still stood.

To make matters worse, Kaz had somehow managed to corner him as he walked from the shooting range, apparently eager to debate some plan or another. Why he couldn’t just leave a message for Ocelot to get back to him like any normal person might, he would never understand.

He’d already been forced to stand out there on the platform, in the mid-afternoon sun, for the last _twenty minutes_ , and frankly, he wasn’t going to take it anymore.

“Look, Miller, I’m sure we can put this aside and discuss it later.”

Kaz’s scowl became more pronounced, if such a thing was even possible. “The last time you pulled that trick, we never finished the discussion, and then that half-assed strategy got put into effect! And you remember how _that_ worked out, right?”

Ocelot rubbed his forehead. Of course he remembered, though he did wish Kaz hadn’t made him.

“Not to mention,” Kaz continued, “it’s nearly impossible to find you on your off time. So it’s either discussing our plans in front of the prisoners during interrogations, or this!”

Whatever reply Ocelot was about to give quickly died in his throat at the sight of Kaz abruptly backing up a few steps, his previously frustrated expression morphing into one of barely contained apprehension. Disconcerted, Ocelot turned to see what Kaz was looking at.

Off in the distance, but approaching at an alarming speed, he could make out some kind of aerial object, with two long wings unmistakably attached to a cylindrical body. Perhaps some kind of enemy aircraft? But wait—

Did the wings just _flap?_

Ocelot whirled around to check if Kaz was just as confused as he was, only to realize that he’d already retreated halfway to the nearest building. Typical.

His boredom at Kaz’s predictable antics was interrupted by one of the strangest noises he’d ever heard, something he could only classify as a cross between a chirp and a roar. It was downright unnerving.

Turning back, Ocelot spotted several soldiers running towards the buildings as well. Obviously they were afraid, but he couldn’t help thinking that it was a little absurd. Whatever apprehensions he’d had that it may have been an enemy aircraft had gone once he’d seen the wings flap. And if not an enemy aircraft, then he doubted it could be something nearly as terrifying.

Then he looked up again.

Alright, perhaps there were some things he hadn’t accounted for.

The object was much closer now, and Ocelot could plainly see that it was _alive_. No machine he knew of could move like that. Its enormous wings flapped again, its head shifted down, and then it looked straight at him.

Feeling pierced by the thing’s rounded eyes, Ocelot was left paralyzed, as if he were caught in a sniper’s crosshairs. It continued staring intently at him as it flew closer, and with another of those indescribable shrieks, it plummeted downwards.

The sight jumpstarted Ocelot’s brain and he whirled away, sprinting as fast as he could manage. As he ran towards the buildings, he saw Kaz holding open a door, and changed his course towards it.

Kaz appeared to have been leaning out to witness the whole thing, and when he realized Ocelot was finally running, he moved to hold the door open wider.

Never in his life would Ocelot have imagined that he could be filled with a burst of such intense hope and energy at the sight of Kaz.

Similarly, never in his life would he have imagined himself being hoisted off the ground by a clawed foot wrapping itself around his torso, lifting him up into the air, and flying him away from Mother Base.

He was going to _destroy_ the next person who talked to him about Fridays.

 

**[Friday, October 4th, 1985 — 17:47]**

Ocelot wasn’t sure how long they’d been flying for, but regardless, his muscles ached and his mood had been steadily worsening.

So far, he hadn’t been able to get a proper look at the creature, since every time he tried to twist around it simply tightened its grip on him. Even if it hadn’t, he’d stopped his struggling once it became clear that swimming back to Mother Base was a lost cause. Not to mention that the only thing his kicking and squirming had accomplished was to lose both his guns and bandolier to the sea.

He’d had to postpone mourning for them.

Instead, he observed the setting sun, trying to figure out what direction the creature was flying in. After a while it became apparent it was heading southwest, and he was left with the need to distract himself through other means. One of those means had been examining the claws currently holding him. There were three fingers, all yellow and scaly, their undersides rough against his clothes.

In contrast, the knuckles that Ocelot had swiped a hand across had felt smooth and glossy. The claws themselves weren’t much different from the fingers, except perhaps a lighter color. He was tempted to test their sharpness, but ultimately decided against it. After all, it was better to leave his observations limited to that than risk getting dropped down in the middle of nowhere.

Soon, with nothing left to distract him, he was forced to face the fact that, however implausible, a huge creature had swooped down and effectively abducted him as Kaz watched. Furthermore, he was now completely defenseless and who-knew-how-many miles from Mother Base.

Suddenly, he was hit with a pang of loneliness. It was quite unexpected, since he’d never lose his cool in the event of a typical kidnapping. He’s been trained to deal with situations like that, from negotiation tactics to outright shooting his way out. But then, this wasn’t a typical kidnapping.

There were no guards to negotiate with, no guns to steal for himself. There was just him and the creature, and with no idea where it even planned on landing, Ocelot couldn’t even begin to search the environment for an advantage.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that it came as a surprise to see a small land mass in the distance. Craning his neck to look at it, he could make out some cliffs surrounded by dense foliage. With any luck, there might be food to be found there. Then again, the creature had flown all the way to Mother Base for him, which meant that it was either really hungry or just really picky. Ocelot wasn’t sure which option he preferred.

As they neared it, Ocelot tried to determine whether it was an island or a peninsula. Unfortunately, the combination of darkening sky and the angle he found himself at left much to be desired, and so he was rendered unable to make a guess either way. Ocelot tried looking for signs of anything that might aid his escape or survival besides the obvious landmarks. At this rate, it was looking like a thorough exploration of the jungle would probably be his best bet.

Of course, as soon as he’d begun formulating the beginnings of a plan, the creature had to go and spoil it by flying towards the cliffs.

Ocelot only had a few seconds left to wonder how he could possibly escape before being eaten alive, when all of a sudden he found himself falling from the creature’s grip. As he fell, he twisted himself around to look up at his captor.

_A bird, huh?_

 

**[Friday, October 4th, 1985 — 18:12]**

Ocelot’s landing was soft and cushioned, shocking him more than the sight of the huge bird lunging down after him. His body felt too sore for him to scramble out of the way, and even if he could, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t accidentally roll off the cliff. Resigning himself to an unpleasant death, he willed himself still, waiting to face it with dignity.

To his puzzlement, the bird landed down beside him, then ruffled its feathers and simply stared. He stared back at it, unsure what it was waiting for. It craned its neck, head swiveling to hover over Ocelot, and remained in that position for what felt like hours. Lying there on his back, Ocelot wondered if it was waiting for any sign of movement before eating him.

Then suddenly it emitted a loud squawk, startling Ocelot into sitting halfway up. He froze, leaning on his elbows, unease growing by the second.

But contrary to Ocelot’s predictions, the bird spread its wings and ran off, soaring into the air with a few well-timed flaps. Ocelot watched it go as far as he could, eyesight limited by the sun’s absence. Once it was lost to the darkness, he let himself flop down again, releasing his breath in a whoosh.

 

**[Friday, October 4th, 1985 — 18:36]**

The sun had fully set, and Ocelot was unsure how long he’d lain there.

Mostly, he’d been relieved at his demotion from ‘bird dinner’ to ‘abandoned prey’. At least, he _hoped_ the huge beast wouldn’t return. But the more he thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed. His fall didn’t feel like any sort of accident, as the pliable surface he was currently resting on seemed to ever so helpfully indicate.

In the darkness, he hadn’t been able to accurately identify what exactly he was resting on, but if he had to guess, it appeared to consist of various small branches and leaves, with other plantlike material strewn throughout. In other words, chances were that it was actually a nest.

Ocelot was extremely grateful for the fact that there weren’t any chicks occupying it, or his fall likely would’ve ended on a significantly more tragic note. As it was, he had no idea why the overgrown stork had opted to drop him into its unoccupied nest. Unless it wasn’t the bird’s? Fuck, what if it was some other giant bird’s nest? What if it ate whatever eggs or chicks were there before, and then dumped him in as some kind of replacement? Ocelot was no fool; birds were known to resort to such underhanded tactics.

But in the end, for all his speculating, it all came back to the fact that he couldn’t formulate a plan without daylight. Combined with his exhaustion at the day’s events, he’d be lucky if he woke up tomorrow with enough energy to escape.

And so he curled up on his side to sleep.

 

**[Friday, October 4th, 1985 — 19:14]**

Or he _tried_ to, at any rate.

It wasn’t that the nest was too hard— it was, but he’d endured worse.

It wasn’t that it was too cold— his lack of coat against the chilly wind certainly didn’t help matters, but he could take it.

It wasn’t even the loneliness he’d been stamping down on ever since it first manifested itself.

No, none of that held a candle to his actual problem.

_It was just too damn quiet._

He wasn’t sure how such silence could even be possible. Surely there would be some insects buzzing nearby? Or perhaps some nocturnal animals inhabiting the cliffs? Instead, there was nothing besides the high-pitched whistling that surrounded him with every gust of wind that swept the area.

Ocelot found the non-atmosphere infuriating. He was accustomed to hearing noises as he slept. Muffled whispers, authoritative footsteps, even the occasional croak from a frog. They served as reminders, grounding his mental state by establishing where he was. His sensitive ears could pick apart the cacophony, letting each sound tell him a crucial fact about his surroundings.

But here? Ocelot felt more defenseless by the minute.

His complete lack of information regarding the situation, either about the location or the motivation, was thoroughly interfering with his ability to sleep.

A long-suffering sigh escaped him.

 

**[Friday, October 4th, 1985 — 20:51]**

Fuck.

It was back.

That thing—for he wasn’t entirely sure it _could_ be called a bird—was back.

At first, he’d thought he was imagining the noises. It wouldn’t be entirely unexpected; he was used to a constant litany of sounds, and hardly even remembered the last time he’d endured a silence this long.

But alas, the steady rhythm had continued without pause, steadily growing louder and louder, until eventually Ocelot identified it as the flap of wings. Very, very big wings.

Was it finally going to eat him? Should he try lying still again? Damn it, none of his training covered this!

Before he could definitively pick a course of action, the beast landed down a couple yards away. With a shake of its head and wings, it made its way to where Ocelot lay. Its approach was casual and not at all reminiscent of a predator, almost lulling him out of his apprehension.

Then it sat down and threw its wing over him, effectively trapping him in place.

He could barely make out an opening to the outside, vision severely limited by the combination of ‘night’ and ‘huge goddamn bird’. Still, he supposed it could be worse. Much worse.

He didn’t stay awake for too long afterwards. Though he could’ve managed without them, the warmth and softness certainly helped. And if listening to the thing’s heartbeat was what ultimately helped him rest, well, no one but him had to know.

 

**[Saturday, October 5th, 1985 — 06:23]**

An unidentifiable screeching noise jerked him awake.

Somehow he’d managed to sleep past sunrise, the sun was already out in full force and thoroughly illuminating his surroundings. The _thing_ was already up and about, standing a couple meters away, watching him steadily.

It wasn’t a bird. But... It wasn’t really anything else either. Its basic skeletal structure seemed to match that of a bird’s, barring the wings. Arms? Whatever they were, the creature had them folded in on themselves and resting on the ground, apparently supporting its upper body. For the most part, feathers covered it from head to tail, barring splotches of something more akin to fur across its chest.

Getting an estimate on its actual size was difficult with the lack of recognizable surroundings to compare it to, but there was still no doubt in Ocelot’s mind that it would loom over him were he to stand up. Its beak alone was easily over three feet long. Atop its head, a small portion of feathers appeared slightly elevated, signifying the possibility of a crest.

Despite it all, the thing’s most intimidating characteristic was easily its eyes. Ocelot had seen his fair share of birds, and though he’d seldom paid much mind to their eyes, he was familiar enough with their general appearance to know that his captor was no bird.

It resembled one, of course: Overall body structure, feathers, feet, and so on. At a glance, its eyes really weren’t so different from an average bird’s. The vibrant orange of its irises was certainly noteworthy, though mainly due to how it contrasted with the dull grey surrounding it. But really, what chilled Ocelot’s blood and made his heart skip a beat was nothing so apparent as all that. It could’ve had six wings and a third eye for all he cared about its physical appearance.

The predatory glint in the thing’s eyes, however—entirely _too_ predatory for any common bird to be capable of—finally jarred the word into the forefront of Ocelot’s mind.

_Dinosaur_.

 

**[Saturday, October 5th, 1985 — 06:26]**

Incredibly, achingly slowly, Ocelot shifted into a sitting position, keeping the dinosaur in sight the whole time. It, in turn, also seemed to have its gaze locked on him as he did so. Then, as if it had simply been waiting for him to fully sit up, it abruptly scuttled over, stopping mere inches away. Ocelot tried to swallow his apprehension and stay where he was, reluctant to show any signs of fear.

Awkwardly, the thing craned its neck down, bringing its beak—which Ocelot could now see was filled hundreds of glistening teeth—uncomfortably close to Ocelot. One of its eyes was level with him, pupil rapidly dilating and constricting. Being watched so intently was unnerving at best, and Ocelot doubted he could take much more of the strange, new torture.

That’s what it was: Torture. Not any kind he’d ever used or experienced, and only distantly reminiscent to any kinds he’d heard of. But torture all the same.

Finally, the creature gave a short squawk and shuffled backwards a few steps, still entirely too close for Ocelot’s liking. A moment passed, and then it lifted its arms, spread its wings, and... Oh, he’d been right. That _was_ a crest.

The ptero-bird stood at its full height, chest and feathers puffed out, clearly in some sort of show of superiority over Ocelot. Unsure of just how much more intimidated he could possibly become, Ocelot remained still, refusing to show any reaction to the display.

As if daring him to remain so apathetic, the thing began screeching. Horrendous sounds gurgled out of its open beak, bombarding Ocelot and leaving him with no choice but to clamp his hands over his ears and curl in on himself.

The auditory attack stopped as suddenly as it had started, the ptero-bird seemingly satisfied with the reaction its screams had garnered. Slowly, Ocelot looked up, still hesitant to uncover his ears in case the thing started its horrible assault once more. To his relief, the ptero-bird merely flapped its wings a few times, walked to and fro, then tucked its head down and ran, taking off into the sky.

Ocelot watched it go, keeping his eyes trained on it until it disappeared into the horizon.

 

**[Saturday, October 5th, 1985 — 06:42]**

Now that his captor was gone, it was high time Ocelot assessed his surroundings.

It was readily apparent that he was indeed on a cliff. Not the highest part, but rather a sort of nook in its side. The connecting cliff wall seemed to have crumbled away, forming something akin to a miniature cave, big enough that he might be able to squeeze in for some basic protection against the elements. Barring that, it would at least provide a few feet of shade, shielding him from the sun. Perhaps it would be a suitable spot for him to relax in. Or _try_ to relax, at any rate.

The rest of the nook jutted out from the cliffside, reminiscent of a peninsula. Carefully, Ocelot crawled over to the nearest edge, needing to see just how far down the drop was. Leaning his head over, he could see the dense foliage below, all the jungle’s trees clustered together with no way of telling them apart from this distance. He ran his eyes down the side of the cliff itself, trying to get an approximation of its height.

Ocelot had never been one to fear heights. But he figured now was as good a time as any to start.

In fact, maybe now would be the best time to try out the shadowed part of the nook. It would certainly help calm his breathing— Had breathing always been this difficult?

Probably because of the altitude. Yes, that would definitely make sense...

No, no, thinking about the altitude was a bad idea. The altitude represented bad things, like isolation and never getting to see John again.

_John_...

 

**[Saturday, October 5th, 1985 — 07:03]**

Somehow, he managed to curl up in the tiny cave, pressing his back against the cliffside in an attempt to ground himself. After a while, he found that the rate of his heartbeat had subsided, as well as realizing that at some point he must’ve shut his eyes.

He opened them just barely enough to see, noting that the view was really quite nice if he imagined the ground to be a mere five feet below. As it was, he had a clear view of the sky and the expanse of the ptero-bird’s nest, his initial prediction proving right; it was indeed a nest.

And what a nest it was.

Mostly made up of small branches and a few larger twigs, the nest covered the entire area jutting out from the cliff, with edges tapering upwards to ensure that none of its potential occupants could accidentally roll off. Haphazardly strewn throughout it were splashes of color, interspersed with the occasional gleam of brilliant sunlight—the source of which, upon closer inspection, was revealed to be an assortment of reflective recyclables the ptero-bird must have stumbled across.

Or possibly stolen.

It wasn’t too much of a stretch, really. Clearly it was more than fine with stealing _people_ ; why would their belongings be any different?

His resentment at the situation grew, and he visualized himself putting a bullet between the ptero-bird’s eyes, hearing a squawk die in its throat as it fell backwards, into the waters below. Of course, he’d still be stranded up on the cliff with no way to get down, but there was no getting through life without compromises.

Ocelot’s eyes continued roaming back and forth across the nest, absently staring at the mess, until bit by bit they weren’t really staring at anything at all, and instead simply drifting closed once more.

 

**[Saturday, October 5th, 1985 — 07:50]**

He was awoken by the incessant flap of wings, whooshing air signaling the ptero-bird’s approach.

Ocelot blearily looked out from his spot, too dejected to do much more. Being tired and hungry was nothing new for him, and he’d been trained to deal with each.

But getting kidnapped to the middle of nowhere by some supposedly extinct beast? It would take a toll on anyone, and Ocelot thought he ought to be commended for holding up as well as he had. Lying there, hands curled into his chest and no viable escape options in sight, he waited for the ptero-bird to show itself once more.

All of a sudden, the ptero-bird zoomed across his line of sight, somehow managing to do so in a graceful arc. Intrigued, Ocelot scooted his upper half out of the cave, head wildly turning from side to side in search of the creature.

And then again, there it was, this time shooting upwards into the sky in a straight line, wings stretched out and displayed in its full glory. As his eyes followed it, the ptero-bird slowly leaned backwards until its entire body was elegantly flipping over in a display of such precision and accuracy that it left Ocelot just a bit breathless.

Dipping its head down low, the ptero-bird sharply dove down towards the nest. Without a second thought, Ocelot scrambled back into his tiny alcove, bracing for its impending arrival.

To his amazement, it angled itself back up mere yards above the nest, seemingly effortless movements taking it up a little higher, where it began lazily circling, descending lower and lower, until at last its feet touched down and its wings froze where they were.

Wings still outstretched, it made a beeline for Ocelot, quick strides stopping directly in front of him. He curled in on himself, waiting for something— _anything_ —to happen. From his vantage point, only the creature’s scaled talons could be seen, long tail feathers fanned out behind it, and—

_Splat!_

—a fish.

Ocelot found himself staring at a silvery-blue fish that had just fallen down before him, apparently having been carried by the ptero-bird the whole time. It was a relatively fresh kill, Ocelot thought, though he couldn’t properly determine its species.

The ptero-bird shuffled back far enough that its entire lower half came into view, lowering its wings in the process. Aside from undulating its head from side to side, it remained completely still, sharp eyes pinpointed on him.

Unwilling to lower his guard any further, Ocelot stared back, determined to wait the situation out.

 

**[Saturday, October 5th, 1985 — 08:08]**

The ptero-bird had flown off some time ago, and Ocelot was fed up with waiting to see if it would return.

Crawling out from his cave, he slowly approached the glossy fish, letting his eyes roam over it. Once he’d looked his fill, he gingerly gripped its tail and flipped it over, examining the other side.

For all his training, he couldn’t for the life of him identify what kind of fish it was. Eating an unknown fish raw? It was out of the question.

His belly emitted a pathetic grumble.

There was really nothing to be done, however. Besides, hunger was the least of his concerns. Without a decent way to hydrate himself, any food he might find was utterly worthless. Not that he’d had much time to check, but so far it seemed as if there were no other life forms to speak of nearby. The creature could happily fly off whenever it pleased, either catching food or drinking water.

And Ocelot? He was stuck up here without any means of acquiring food. Except the ptero-bird, he supposed.

Not only was he its hostage, but also completely dependent upon it. Had the specifics of the situation not been so absurd, he may have lamented the indignity of his position. As it was, he could only hope to make the best of the situation.

The thing evidently cared enough about his wellbeing to bring him a fish, however useless a gift it was. If he simply left it untouched, there were two foreseeable outcomes:

  1. The ptero-bird would see it as an affront, and either maim, kill, or eat him for his ungratefulness. Regrettable.
  2. The ptero-bird would realize he needed different sustenance, and so bring him something of perhaps some use. Preferable.



Though neither option boded well for his long-term future, he really couldn’t afford to be picky at the moment.

He left the fish and moved to the center of the nest, anxious to stretch out his muscles after being cooped up so long.

 

**[Saturday, October 5th, 1985 — 09:17]**

Ocelot idly wondered if it was these sorts of circumstances that resulted in people practicing yoga.

He’d already gone through every type of stretch he knew, done a few warm-up exercises, and finally collapsed in a weary heap, wishing he’d put off the whole thing until the ptero-bird brought back some water.

Yoga didn’t seem to tire people out _nearly_ as much as push-ups and the like. He should take it up.

Lying spread-eagled amongst the twigs and branches of the nest, he watched the clouds drift across the sky. Eyes half-lidded, he almost missed the creature’s return.

It descended from the sky and Ocelot sat up, quickly scooting to a side. The ptero-bird landed carefully, not sparing him a second glance before making its way to the abandoned fish, now dry and starting to smell. One of its talons reached out to flip it over, head swiveling around and taking full stock of its appearance.

Once it appeared to have confirmed Ocelot’s disinterest, it craned its neck back around, eyes widening as they darted about the nest, seemingly checking to assess whether Ocelot had done any damage. Meeting its gaze, Ocelot stayed completely still, waiting to find out which of the two foreseeable fates would befall him.

In the blink of an eye, the creature pivoted around and charged forward. Ocelot felt a strangled shriek escape him and instinctively flinched back.

And then the ptero-bird was soaring upwards, wing missing his head by mere inches. He turned his head and watched it fly off, this time heading for somewhere on the other side of the cliffs. Right before it left his line of sight, he saw it dip down, presumably heading down towards the jungle canopy.

Minutes passed.

It seemed that leaving food untouched _wasn’t_ offensive to ptero-birds. That was good to know.

Ocelot shakily exhaled, loosening his muscles and immediately toppling over, body numb and overcome with jitters. Annoyed at his involuntary response, he brought a hand up to his face, attempting to massage his temples. Unfortunately, his fingers twitched at odd intervals, dooming the endeavor to fail.

Grumpily, he shut his eyes and concentrated on the frenzied thumping of his heart, willing his breathing slower and slower.

 

**[Saturday, October 5th, 1985 — 09:32]**

By the time the creature returned, Ocelot had uncurled himself and turned on his stomach, frustrated at the incessant rumbling that had begun coming from it once more.

Glancing up at the sound of the ptero-bird landing a few feet away, he chose to remain still, ignoring it as best he could. There was only so much he could be expected to put up with in the span of an hour after all, and he’d just about met his quota.

A dull _thump_ refocused his attention, prompting him to check what had caused it.

To his surprise, in front of the creature’s feet rested a watermelon. It was on the smaller end of the scale, but still perfectly acceptable. Was it meant to be a replacement for the fish?

Ocelot looked up at the ptero-bird’s face, trying to assess its intent. It did nothing but stare back, so he decided to take his chances and scoot forward, watching it for any sign of protest. When none came, he stretched out his arms and softly placed his hands on the watermelon, pausing a moment.

The ptero-bird simply kept staring until Ocelot—finally sure that it was indeed meant as a replacement for the uneaten fish—pulled it back towards himself. Depositing it in his lap, he began turning it over, examining it from all sides.

It seemed to be a watermelon like any other, if rather small.

His stomach gave yet another weak groan, and Ocelot realized he had no way of opening the watermelon. Short of smashing it against the hard ground leading from the nest to the alcove, how was he meant to—

The ptero-bird’s head ducked down, the tip of its beak closing around the watermelon and immediately snapping it into pieces, then retreating back to its original position.

It happened too quickly for him to react. Ocelot remained staring at the bright red chunks of watermelon strewn across his lap, finally picking up a small piece and taking a bite.

At the first trickle of juice across his tongue, his eyes fluttered closed and a throaty moan escaped him. Moving the small piece of watermelon around his mouth, he took his time savoring and eventually swallowing it, relishing the feel of something finally descending into his poor stomach. Eyes opening and newly alight with fervor, he eagerly took another bite and savored it as well, then swallowed and repeated the process.

He was so engrossed in sating the burning of his belly that he hardly even noticed the ptero-bird puff out its feathers, give its wings a few flaps, then run off and take to the skies again.

 

**[Saturday, October 5th, 1985 — 10:05]**

He chewed the last chunk of watermelon and took special note of the way its sweet juice filled his mouth, the liquid refreshing his palate and the taste teasing his tongue, before he gulped it down, licking his lips and letting out a pleased hum.

Newly satisfied after eating the entire watermelon in record time, Ocelot lazily made his way out of the nest and crawled back to his crevice. Finding his path blocked by the old fish, he tossed it down into the jungle after a moment’s deliberation, continuing on until he reached his destination.

Contemplating the cramped space for a few seconds, he realized that squeezing himself in would be needlessly uncomfortable unless he loosened his belt, now pressing down around his middle and making him feel suffocated.

He _really_ shouldn’t have eaten so quickly, but the watermelon had been delicious and Ocelot had been weak.

Sighing wearily, he undid his belt, opened his pants for good measure, and slid into the cave. Pressing himself into it on a full stomach still proved difficult, but was ultimately doable.

Sleepy and content, he lost consciousness in less than a minute.

 

**[Saturday, October 5th, 1985 — 13:11]**

He’d fallen so deeply asleep that it took a loud squawk in his face to wake him up.

Eyes opening, he found the ptero-bird had craned its neck down, and was currently in the middle of tugging at his shirt, sharp teeth ripping the fabric as it pulled.

“Hey, get off!” he yelled, swatting at it and kicking out.

Undeterred, the ptero-bird instead took his awakening as a sign of encouragement, tugging harder.

Much to Ocelot’s shock, it seemed to possess some basic understanding of politeness, as instead of utilizing its full strength while he slept, it did so now, pulling him clean out of his cave and drawing him back to the nest.

Choosing to save his energy in case the situation took a turn for the worse, Ocelot stilled, letting the ptero-bird yank him all the way in. As soon as it let go of him, he chanced a quick glance down to assess the damage.

His torso seemed to be fine, but the ptero-bird’s teeth had greatly damaged the front of his shirt, tearing gashes and holes across it.

_Damn bird_.

As if sensing his thoughts, the ptero-bird gave an angry screech, aggressively throwing out its wings and bringing its head down to glare at him. Ocelot meekly looked up at it, noting how its ruffled feathers made it appear much larger than usual.

Before he could make any other observations, one of the ptero-bird’s enormous talons jerked out, grabbed him, and lightly flung him into the air. Reflexes slower than usual, he just barely stopped himself from landing face first, hands flying up to take the brunt of the impact.

A sudden weight on his leg made him look back, only to see the ptero-bird stepping on it, clearly intending to keep him in place. He tried prying his leg out from under its grip, but the effort proved fruitless. No matter how much energy he exerted, the talon stayed put, and so did his leg.

Tired of struggling, Ocelot ceased his squirming, waiting to see what the ptero-bird was planning.

Abruptly, he felt its other talon scrape lightly down his back, catch on his pants, and begin pulling them along with it. He supposed it was to be expected, given how loosely he’d left them, and reached to pull them back up.

A sharp bite was his only reward, and he yanked away his hand with a yelp. Luckily, it didn’t appear to have caused any actual damage, but he was startled out of his self-examination at the feeling of something clamping firmly around his neck. It wasn’t painful, but was forceful enough that he felt a wave of panic surge within him. A moment later, his mind caught up to the situation, and he realized it was the ptero-bird’s beak.

The ptero-bird was holding him down by the neck, _biting him_.

It could easily rip his head off if he angered it. As for exactly what sort of thing might anger it, he really had no earthly idea. At least, other than ‘attempts at preserving his modesty’, apparently.

All of a sudden, he felt something warm and slippery on his exposed backside, the wetness dripping from it thoroughly coating his rear. As the thing slid around and rubbed at his ass, he couldn’t help shuddering at the obscene sensation.

He raised a hand, intending to swat whatever it was away, before abruptly remembering the promised threat of the ptero-bird’s beak still around his neck. Hand frozen in mid-air, he deliberated whether or not to risk possible death simply to forego some embarrassment.

His internal debate ground to a screeching halt as the thing settled into the cleft of his ass and began to throb, more sliminess oozing from it. Then, torturously, it began inching downwards, rough texture dragging against his sensitive opening despite the copious amount of goo present.

The second he felt its pointed end press insistently against him, Ocelot knew he’d made a terrible mistake.

The ptero-bird’s dick violently plunged into him, wrenching free a desperate, wounded scream. Though the appendage itself was sopping wet, his body remained unprepared for the assault, and tears ran down his face as he let out a litany of broken sobs. He felt his muscles frantically clenching around the intrusion, and willed himself to relax, already knowing it was a lost cause.

Similarly enough, attempting to break free was also a lost cause. Regardless of whether he’d get his neck snapped or not, he simply had no energy or willpower to move, thoughts only consumed by pain.

In other circumstances, he would’ve resisted from the start. Hell, even in _these_ circumstances, he should’ve resisted.

He let out another cry, this time of frustration at his own incompetency, and dug his fingers into the nest floor. Although the ptero-bird had yet to move its dick since ramming it in, the excruciating burn in his insides wasn’t dissipating in the least. His thighs quivered with the urge to keep still, yearning to simply go limp and let him fall over, but he feared it might be seen as resistance by the ptero-bird.

Excess slick dripped out around the dick, eliciting a disgusted whine as his internal muscles began loosening. He had no idea whether it was caused by just how lubricated his insides were, or if the fluid had numbing properties as well.

A few deep breaths later, he finally began regaining some self-control, only to feel the unmistakable bulge of something larger pressing at his entrance. He angrily wondered whether the damn bird’s dick had some kind of knot just to cause him further distress in what was already a deplorable situation.

Bitterly, Ocelot focused all his remaining energy on continuing to breathe, feeling the bulge work its way into him and...

...Keep going?

It went much farther than any knot ought to, and before it had even stopped advancing, he felt a second bulge pressing in after it. His heart thrummed in his chest as a third bulge came after, anxious to know what exactly was happening.

Deep inside, he felt a strange sensation, followed by a brief flare of pain, and as the bulges continued, the flares of pain continued as well, until at last the ptero-bird’s dick began withdrawing, having passed five of the bulges into him. He felt it loosen its hold on his neck and step back, taking its cursed dick with it.

Ocelot expected a deluge of wetness to gush out of him at the absence, but was surprised to find nothing of the sort. Too sore to look back at his violator, he simply sank down and turned to the side, limp from exertion.

He lay there without even bothering to pull his pants up, dead to the world. Barely a minute went by before he completely blacked out.

 

**[Saturday, October 5th, 1985 — 22:48]**

Ocelot regained consciousness, but refused to open his eyes.

He was surrounded by comforting warmth and a familiar heartbeat, and if he kept his eyes shut and pretended, he could almost believe it was John’s.

 

**[Sunday, October 6th, 1985 — 00:34]**

The next time he woke up, the ptero-bird was gone, and his only nighttime company was a colorful lizard skirting along the rim of the nest.

Ocelot furrowed his brow. He hadn’t seen any living beings up here before, aside from his captor. Had he not looked hard enough? How could he miss such an important detail?

The lizard’s quick feet scurried along, traipsing the twigs and brambles jutting out from the edge. Abruptly, it came to a stop and remained still, appearing as though it were listening for something. Minutes passed with its only movements being a flick of the tail and a lick of the air, and then it unfroze as suddenly as it had stilled, scurrying over the side of the nest and disappearing from Ocelot’s sight.

He missed John.

His entire body hurt, he was hungry, and he missed John.

A gust of wind made him shiver before remembering his pants were still undone, strewn around his knees, and he carefully pushed himself to sit up, wincing at the rush of agony that came with it.

He sat all the way up, regardless of how much it hurt, and glanced down at himself, checking for any signs of damage and feeling a wave of relief at finding his front looking relatively unscathed. His back was another question altogether, and he miserably wished for a mirror before remembering there was nothing to be done either way. Whether or not he found injuries, he had no means of treating them, rendering the entire endeavor of no practical use.

Carefully, he folded his legs underneath himself and settled onto his knees, reaching a hand back and lightly running the back of his fingers over the affected area.

Surprised by the lack of excruciating pain, he slowly raised himself up, feebly standing and leaning down to pull his pants up. Once he’d fastened them and buckled his belt, he stood there a while, looking out at the sea and wondering just what was going to happen to him.

 

**[Sunday, October 6th, 1985 — 03:07]**

He was lying down and staring up at the stars when the ptero-bird returned.

Ocelot made no move to get up, remaining where he was and silently watching it land. As it approached him, he noticed it held something in its beak. It let the object fall beside him and waited, meeting his eyes and staring back.

In no hurry to upset it, he turned his head to the side and saw that it had brought him a coconut. He sat up and grabbed it, turning it over in his hands and wishing he had a knife.

He gave a start when the ptero-bird’s beak reached forward, opening around the coconut and steadily pressing down until there was a small cracking noise. It immediately stopped biting down and loosened its jaw, presenting the nearly intact coconut to him.

Ocelot tentatively pulled it out, positive that the ptero-bird had no intention of gnawing his hand off, but electing not to take any more risks than necessary.

Raising the coconut up and slightly parting it, a considerable amount of water burst out, and he gratefully swallowed as much of it as he could. Once the last few drops were out, the ptero-bird closed its beak around it again, this time completely cracking the shell into multiple pieces and waiting for Ocelot to pick them from its beak.

More confidently, he reached in his hands and began scooping out the bits of coconut, depositing them in his lap one by one. As he scooped out the last one, the ptero-bird leaned back and sat down, bright eyes watching him.

Again, he regretted his lack of knife, but bit into the coconut meat all the same, tearing out chunks and scarfing them down, suddenly all too aware of how hungry he’d been.

The ptero-bird merely continued watching him, as if to make sure he was eating his fill. He supposed it would grow upset if he wasn’t well-nourished, and that simply wouldn’t do.

He carried on eating.

 

**[Sunday, October 6th, 1985 — 03:31]**

Finishing with the last piece of shell, Ocelot placed it on the pile beside him, somewhat satisfied, yet still longing for something with more substance.

The ptero-bird moved for the first time since sitting down, getting up and moving to the pile. Much faster than he would’ve thought possible, it scooped up the pieces and flung them off the nest, picking the spot clean in less than a minute.

It then turned towards him, beak nudging him over. Not wishing to provoke it, Ocelot let himself be pushed down, mentally preparing for what might come.

Instead of something distressful like he’d imagined, the ptero-bird sat beside him, spreading a wing over his body and curling its head down. After a moment’s hesitation, he leaned into its warm chest, reveling in the offered comfort. Despite not being tired, he closed his eyes and remained still, content to relax alongside his captor.

 

**[Sunday, October 6th, 1985 — 05:39]**

The beak running along his stomach woke him up, and he grimaced at the rising sun, annoyed that he’d fallen asleep yet again.

Noticing he was finally awake, the ptero-bird gave a screech and jumped back, flapping its wings and running off, taking into the sky as Ocelot confusedly watched. He sat up, noting that it was circling back and heading straight for him, talons outstretched.

Before he knew it, he was back in the air and being carried towards the ground. Feeling his ears pop, his mind caught up to what was happening and he unpopped them, remembering the basic guidelines of what to do during a rapid descent. As they neared sea level, he took in a breath of air and briefly saw spots dance before his eyes, light-headed from the effort of resisting the pressure change.

The talon around his midsection suddenly unclenched, and he fell the last few feet on his own, splashing into the sea and flailing towards the shore, thankful at the first sign of land beneath his feet.

Clambering up onto the beach, Ocelot moved out of the water, looking at the dense foliage before him. He had no earthly idea what lurked in there, but was in no hurry to find out. Venturing into the jungle without the ptero-bird’s protection wasn’t something he dared to do, as being forcibly fucked just once was more than enough for him.

He looked over to where it imposingly sat, again appearing to watch him, waiting for something. Unsure what was expected of him, Ocelot awkwardly stood in place, the steady thrum of the ocean waves fading into the background.

The ptero-bird calmly blinked, then swiveled its head around and stretched out a wing. As Ocelot watched, it ran its feathers through its beak, meticulously preening itself.

Did it intend for him to do the same? Clean himself in the ocean?

He desperately wished that was the case, feeling overdue for a shower. In the absence of an actual one, the ocean would do just as well.

Eager to test his theory, he hastily stripped off his clothes, not a hint of self-consciousness present. The ptero-bird appeared not to mind, continuing its preening as he shed his last scrap of clothing. Fully naked, he hesitated, eyeing his discarded clothes.

Seawater wasn’t the best for cleaning, but they _were_ already wet...

Deciding he had nothing to lose, he made up his up his mind and picked them up, carrying them to the surf. He kneeled down and set to washing them as the ptero-bird continued its preening. The silence between them was comfortable, and Ocelot nearly forgot he was out in the middle of nowhere, with nary a hope of being rescued.

 

**[Sunday, October 6th, 1985 — 06:13]**

Ocelot was busy wringing out his hair when the ptero-bird took off without the slightest warning.

He felt a swirl of unease curl up his spine, but did his best to shrug it off. What did it matter if it flew away now? It had a tendency to leave him unsupervised for hours at a time; he should be accustomed to it by now.

His eyes darted to the vast jungle, almost certain that the ptero-bird’s presence had served to scare away any would-be intruders. With it gone, just about anything hiding amongst the vegetation could creep up on him. In fact, hardly any creeping would be necessary at all.

Ocelot was no fool; he knew he wasn’t in peak condition. His meals had been unfulfilling, he was dehydrated, and his sleeping patterns had gone to hell in a handbasket. Though he may still have been able to fight off another person, that was the least of his worries. Anything living in that jungle _wasn’t human_ , and he knew that as surely as he knew the ptero-bird would come back to get him.

It had to, right?

 

**[Sunday, October 6th, 1985 — 06:56]**

A loud screech signaled the ptero-bird’s return, and Ocelot nearly wept with relief.

Gathering up his drying clothes, he hurried towards it, having become increasingly agitated by the jungle and expecting something to pop out at him any second. With the ptero-bird back, he was confident that nothing would dare approach them.

Nearing it, he saw that it had brought yet another tiny watermelon, splitting it open just as he arrived. He came to a stop, realizing it intended for him to eat down here rather than up at the nest.

Still wary of the foliage, but feeling considerably less vulnerable, he set his clothes out to dry again and knelt down to eat the watermelon chunks, mouth already salivating at the sight of the scarlet insides. Reaching a piece up to his mouth and taking a bite, he felt the juice lather his tongue in sweetness and sighed contentedly, grateful the ptero-bird went to the trouble of bringing him what seemed to be the world’s tastiest, juiciest watermelons.

Taking another bite, he let an appreciative moan reverberate through him, and was surprised to find the ptero-bird had turned to look at him in interest. Clearly, its attention had been caught by Ocelot’s moan, but Ocelot couldn’t tell whether or not he should repeat it.

He lifted the watermelon to his mouth again, biting off a particularly large chunk and moaning out once more.

The ptero-bird instantly stood, fluffing its feathers and trilling melodically. Ocelot watched wide-eyed as it walked over to him and plopped down, softly clicking its tongue and resuming its preening. Silent camaraderie back in place, Ocelot carried on eating his watermelon chunks, enjoying the ptero-bird’s companionship.

 

**[Sunday, October 6th, 1985 — 07:40]**

Once Ocelot had finished the watermelon, he’d leaned back against the ptero-bird and relaxed, waiting for his meal to digest and his clothes to finish the last of their drying.

Enough time passed that he found himself beginning to doze off, and quickly shook himself back awake. Stretching lazily, he gathered up his clothes, noting that most of them were nearly dry. The ptero-bird craned its neck around to watch him, and seemed to understand that Ocelot was ready to return to the nest.

Standing up and giving its wings a flap, it took off after a running start, circling overhead for a minute. Ocelot took the time to pull on some of his drier clothes and stick his feet back into his boots. He held his remaining clothes tightly, patiently waiting for the ptero-bird to snatch him back up.

As soon as he felt its talons around his waist, he pressed his clothes to his chest and braced himself for the impending flight.

 

**[Sunday, October 6th, 1985 — 11:21]**

Ocelot spent the majority of the morning lounging in the nest, before eventually growing weary of the sunlight.

Unwilling to curl up in the cramped space of his cave again, he settled for pulling off his boots and opening his shirt. He draped his scarf over his face and removed his gloves, settling back down and succumbing to his boredom once more.

Unfortunately, there really wasn’t anything for him to do. The ptero-bird had left shortly after depositing him into the nest, and though its absence had been liberating to start with, it was ultimately distressful. Ocelot hadn’t the vaguest idea of when it might be back, nor whether it would bring food for him.

With his only readily available option being to lose himself in his thoughts, that was exactly what he did.

He thought of Mother Base and all the soldiers inhabiting it. He wondered who was coaching the new Diamond Dogs on how to shoot in his stead. There were few others who could possibly be up to the task, but they were unlikely candidates all the same.

Unbidden, the image of Quiet replacing him came to mind, and he grinned at the thought.  The men would surely be far too intimidated by her to ever accomplish anything. He couldn’t entirely blame them, honestly. All the same, if someone had to replace him as the shooting instructor, then she’d be an excellent choice. The only other candidate he could think of was John, but he’d be too busy with missions to waste his time on things like that.

_John_...

 

**[Sunday, October 6th, 1985 — 12:15]**

The ptero-bird had barely landed before being accosted by Ocelot, entirely too homesick to bear being alone much longer.

As he wrapped his arms around it and nuzzled into its chest, he swallowed down the lump in his throat and forced himself to calm down. The task was easier said than done, but he managed to regain his composure after a couple seconds and promptly stepped away, hoping the ptero-bird hadn’t taken offense at his impromptu outburst.

To his surprise, it sat down and trilled softly, looking at him expectantly. Assuming it meant for him to do the same, he kneeled down and crossed his legs. The ptero-bird immediately scooted closer and reached its head forward.

Ocelot remained still, eyes following its movement as it brought the tip of its beak to his hair. A few seconds later, he realized it was attempting to preen him, catching clumps of his hair and sifting them through its beak.

Despite the peculiarity of the gesture, Ocelot found himself relaxing as the ptero-bird continued its ministrations. He let himself bask in the attention and gave a contented sigh.

 

**[Sunday, October 6th, 1985 — 17:54]**

With nighttime soon upon them, Ocelot prepared himself to go to sleep, burrowing under the ptero-bird’s wing once more.

He’d done nothing but nap and eat the whole day, and frankly, found it odd that he could sleep as much as he had. Regardless of being well-fed and bored, his body’s willingness to nap yet again would be far more alarming had the overall situation not been as alarming as it was to begin with.

All the same, he brushed the worries from his mind and huddled up to the ptero-bird, taking comfort in its body heat and the protection offered by its wing before letting his eyes drift shut once more.

 

**[Monday, October 7th, 1985 — 08:28]**

Ocelot sullenly picked at the pieces of coconut before him, cursing the ptero-bird for not sticking around after cracking it open for him.

It had brought him more food during the night, which he’d gladly eaten before taking his place under its wing again. It was already gone when he’d awoken a few hours ago, and he’d missed it terribly until it came back carrying a coconut in his mouth.

However, instead of keeping him company, it’d soon taken off, and he found himself newly alone. As if that wasn’t bad enough, his clothes were unusually irritating on his skin, and he could barely stand to keep them on. It likely had to do with the ocean salt drying on them, but frankly, he could care less.

Writhing in discomfort, he carried on chewing the coconut meat, wondering when the ptero-bird would return to the nest.

Was this to be his existence from now on? Anticipating the ptero-bird’s arrivals, and rejoicing whenever it deemed a visitation necessary? Well, he supposed it wasn’t much different from his usual routine, just with a dinosaur instead of a person...

He scoffed, tossing aside a half-eaten piece of coconut. Crawling back to his cave, he scooted into it and hugged his knees close.

He was pathetic. Entirely too dependent, no matter how much he liked to pretend otherwise. Oh, sure; he could _function_ on his own, but cope? Hardly. Those nine years without John, he’d been an absolute wreck, and now was hardly any different.

Except now he was becoming dependent on a giant bird that had—

That had—

He turned over to face the cliff wall, barely managing it in the cramped space. Trying to bring his knees up to his chest again, he felt a distinct pressure in his lower abdomen. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t all that comfortable either.

Strange.

Huffing in annoyance, he slammed his eyes shut and tried to clear his thoughts.

 

**[Monday, October 7th, 1985 — 14:01]**

Ocelot heard the ptero-bird land down in the nest and pushed himself out of his cave, eager to go meet it despite his latent anger.

He saw that it had brought another watermelon, splitting it open for him before sitting down and preening itself. It turned to look at him as he crawled over and entered the nest, and once he took the first bite, fluffed up its feathers and softly clicked its tongue.

For his part, Ocelot was simply glad that the ptero-bird had chosen to stay. As he finished off the watermelon, he crawled to its side and leaned on it, hoping it’d keep him company for longer. Before he could give it a second thought, he’d opened his mouth and was speaking.

“I miss Diamond Dogs,” came his voice, surprising both himself and the ptero-bird.

It stilled its movements, apparently listening to see if he’d continue.

Emboldened, Ocelot carried on, “I miss them all. Mother Base too. It’s probably gotten the new platform done by now...” He sighed wistfully, rubbing his head back against the ptero-bird’s plumage and closing his eyes.

“I miss DD and all the animals. Even Quiet and Huey. Even _fucking Kazuhira Miller_ ,” he spat out, hating the indignities he’d been reduced to. Admitting he missed Kaz? _Disgusting_.

“But also,” he swallowed, licking his suddenly dry lips, “I miss John. I don’t even know if I’ll ever see him again. And that’d be alright, I’m sure he can take care of himself.” He thought back to the fall of the original Mother Base and amended, “Mostly.”

Turning to his side and cuddling up to the ptero-bird, he mumbled, “So can I. But just because I _can_ , it doesn’t mean I won’t miss him.” His eyes opened, staring blankly at the nest floor before him. “And if I never see him again, I’ll—”

His voice cracked, and he buried his face against the ptero-bird in despair. Distantly, he felt its beak carding through his hair, seemingly attempting to comfort him. He couldn’t help the high-pitched whimpers squeezing their way up his throat, and felt a wave of dejection pressing down on himself.

Taking weak, stilted breaths, he tried to regain his composure, thankful for the ptero-bird’s soothing gesture.

 

**[Monday, October 7th, 1985 — 20:33]**

It was nighttime when Ocelot awoke to a dull ache in his belly.

Rolling onto his back and staring up at the underside if the ptero-bird’s wing, he reached down to massage the pain away, wincing at the first press of his fingers. As far as he could tell, it originated somewhere deep inside him, where the ptero-bird had...

Well, that didn’t matter. What mattered was that the mounting pressure had him feeling as if he was about to burst, and a feeble moan escaped him.

The ptero-bird stirred awake, craning its head to look at him. He let out another cry, and saw its pupils immediately dilate and contract. In mere seconds, it had stood up and walked around to lean over him, the feathers on its neck rising up along with its crest.

Giving a shrill squawk, it brought its beak to Ocelot’s belly, catching his belt and tugging at it. He imagined that it meant for him to remove his pants, and seeing no better option, he reached down to undo his belt.

He’d barely lifted his hips up to pull down his pants when a fresh pang ran through him. Groaning and curling onto his side, he barely felt the ptero-bird finish the job, tugging them down his thighs. Focusing on trying to breathe, he heard it shuffling around and felt its beak nudging him over onto his stomach. He had no idea what it meant to do, but at the moment, was in too much agony to care. Obediently, he turned, lifting himself on his knees for good measure.

To his surprise, the ptero-bird seemed to quiet down after a moment. Peeking at it out of the corner of his eye, he saw that it had sat behind him, seemingly content to watch his continued distress. Deciding that he’d let it look its fill, he attempted to lay on his side again, only to feel a stab of pain through his gut.

Whimpering gently, he remained as he was and resigned himself to waiting it out.

 

**[Tuesday, October 8th, 1985 — 02:27]**

Finally— _thankfully_ —the ache had subsided, leaving him a quivering mess.

Ocelot had collapsed long ago, sweating and panting as he writhed in place. Once his agonized cries had decreased in frequency, the ptero-bird had taken off, leaving him alone with his misery.

As soon as he could, he’d pulled his pants back up and curled up in the middle of the nest, shivering from exhaustion. Though glad the problem had resolved itself, he couldn’t help but speculate on the cause. Perhaps the ptero-bird had torn something inside of him?

But that couldn’t be right; he’d surely have felt the effects long beforehand. At least, he hoped so.

What could it be though, if not that? He thought back to the incident in question, recalling all the details as well as he could manage. No matter which way he looked at it, his thoughts kept returning to the five bulges he’d felt the ptero-bird deposit into him. At the time, he’d had no idea what they could’ve been, but _now_...

The likeliest option, however much he hated it, seemed to be eggs. _Five_ eggs, to be exact. The ptero-bird had gone and knocked him up with _five_ of its prehistoric eggs.

He was livid.

 

**[Tuesday, October 8th, 1985 — 04:02]**

The ptero-bird got nothing but the cold shoulder when it returned bearing another coconut.

Once it realized that he was simply going to remain curled up in place, it stepped over him and stretched out its wing, covering him and preparing to sleep.

A few minutes later, he inched his ways towards it, relishing in its body heat and letting his eyes drift closed.

 

**[Tuesday, October 8th, 1985 — 10:58]**

Ocelot was idly humming out one of John’s favorite songs when he heard the distant screeching.

Voice catching in his throat, he stilled, unsure if he’d just imagined it. Minutes later, having heard nothing but absolute silence, he was ready to write it off as a trick of his mind.

And then it came again.

He sat up and patiently waited a few more minutes. Sure enough, the noises repeated. They were eerily reminiscent of the ptero-bird’s, and Ocelot found himself contemplating whether or not they might be. Or perhaps even another ptero-bird’s?

Now that he thought about it, were there other ptero-birds? And if so, did they all know of each other’s existence? Surely they must, mustn’t they?

As for what could prompt so much screeching...

The thought of the ptero-bird mating with another of its kind ran through his head, and he suppressed a shudder, jaw clenching at the image. Irritation spiked within him as he heard the screeching again, and he crawled out of the nest and back to his cave.

Grumpily, he slid himself into the tight space, seething all the while. _Really_ , if he was carrying the damn thing’s eggs, the least it could do was show some common decency and lay off the breeding!

More screeching rang out, and he turned to face the cliff wall.

 

**[Tuesday, October 8th, 1985 — 15:19]**

Ocelot let the ocean waves wash over him as he ran a hand through his hair, nearly done with his impromptu bath.

Back on shore, the ptero-bird was waiting for him, assuredly walking along the jungle’s perimeter as if it were patrolling. Ocelot had watched it for the past half hour, and it showed no signs of stopping, simply turning back and walking in the other direction before it left his eyesight.

Finishing up, Ocelot stood and made his way back to it, lips quirking upward when it turned to look at him as he approached. To have sensed him at that distance, either its eyes had an exceptionally wide field of vision, or its ears had exceptionally good hearing.

Though its size and presentation should’ve been evident enough, Ocelot hadn’t been able to properly appreciate its grandeur up in the nest. Seeing it strutting around on land at full height, head arching high up into the air, truly put things into perspective.

No one would _dare_ attack them.

 

**[Wednesday, October 9th, 1985 — 12:45]**

Ocelot was hungry and tired, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, he also wanted to argue with Kaz.

The first two he could explain to an extent; the third, not at all.

He was hungry because he hadn’t eaten, plain and simple. But how could he? The pressure in his abdomen had flared up again, and though it wasn’t outright painful, it effectively killed his appetite. Even if that weren’t the case, he was growing weary of watermelons and coconuts. There _had_ to be something else the ptero-bird could bring him.

He imagined his tiredness had to do with sleeping on uncomfortable surfaces, though he didn’t quite believe it to be the sole contributing factor. After all, he’d had to sleep in worse conditions over the years, and had managed to stay awake for decent lengths of time afterwards. Then again, he’d also been on missions at the time, so perhaps it was that added burst of motivation that made the difference.

Which brought him to the last point: Wanting to argue with Kaz.

About what? He had no idea. For all he cared, they could argue about whether or not the moon was made of cheese. It made no difference to him, so long as they argued.

But Kaz wasn’t in the nest, he was at Mother Base.

Ocelot _was_ in the nest, and he couldn’t argue with Kaz.

 

**[Thursday, October 10th, 1985 — 00:53]**

The hunger was too much.

Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to do much more than nibble at the newest watermelon, his tongue entirely too accustomed to the taste to take pleasure in it any longer.

Despite not having eaten anything the entire day, the pressure in his belly had persisted, leaving him feeling bloated and heavy. As far as he could tell, it originated right around where the ptero-bird would have hypothetically left its eggs, and the fact that the rest of his stomach seemed unaffected strengthened the possibility.

He fell asleep holding onto a piece of watermelon.

 

**[Thursday, October 10th, 1985 — 05:49]**

In the light of the sunrise, it was easy to see that he’d developed a slight bulge.

Poking at it did nothing, but he couldn’t help noticing the way his lower abdominal muscles seemed to be stretched taut around it. He felt no pain or pressure of any kind, which meant either there was none to feel, or his body had grown too accustomed to it for it to register.

He suspected the latter.

 

**[Thursday, October 10th, 1985 — 16:00]**

The ptero-bird had left a few hours ago and still wasn’t back.

If he weren’t so paranoid about stumbling and falling off the cliff, he’d have been pacing the entire time.

He needed something to take his mind off of things.

 

**[Thursday, October 10th, 1985 — 16:06]**

Curled up in his cave and facing the cliff wall, Ocelot stuck a hand down his pants, lightly brushing along his dick.

His options were limited, and he was sure an orgasm would help him de-stress at least a bit. At any rate, it was better than doing nothing, and his touch steadily gained confidence. Fingers curling around himself, he began shifting his wrist back and forth, smoothly tugging at the sensitive skin.

It took longer than he’d expected, but his dick eventually began swelling beneath his hand, a drop of precum forming on its tip. Taking a moment to push his pants farther down, Ocelot resumed his stroking, spreading the emerging precum down the length of it.

Feeling a familiar pulsing within himself, he slowed his movements. The way things were going, he was about to give himself a highly unsatisfying orgasm. True, he’d managed to shift his mind’s focus onto getting himself off, but why stop there? He had a few moments to himself, so he may as well make the most of them.

Leisurely working his dick, he tried to concentrate on some sort of fantasy, but though many came to mind, it was difficult to find one that sufficiently appealed to him right then.

There were several featuring John; a fair number featuring faceless, interchangeable men; and even a rare handful that he usually tried not to dwell on. But try as he might, none of them seemed to be enough.

Perhaps fantasies weren’t what he needed. He could have better luck with memories.

His mind turned back to his first meeting with John so many years ago. He thought of the way John had overpowered him, and how he’d later watched as John himself was overpowered.

John defiantly throwing himself off the waterfall, John facing off against Volgin, John agreeing to one final gun duel...

...John leaving the Patriots...

...John falling into a coma...

...waving at John as he left for a mission, anticipating his return...

...and never seeing him again.

Ocelot was crying before he knew it, hands hugging his chest and erection long forgotten. A niggling insistence that he had no reason to be this emotional scratched at the back of his mind, but he had no patience to analyze it.

All he had was sorrow. Gut-wrenching, soul-shaking sorrow.

 

**[Thursday, October 10th, 1985 — 16:41]**

He was so wrapped up in crying his little heart out that he completely missed the ptero-bird’s return.

Not until its beak nudged his back did he turn around, crawling out from his cave and throwing his arms around it. He felt it briefly shudder under him, apparently thrown off guard by his uncharacteristic behavior.

Its wings quivered for a few seconds, and he feared he’d overstepped his boundaries, but then it stilled. Ocelot remained with his arms around it, leaning into its reassuring warmth.

At first, there was nothing to be heard but the sounds of his muted whimpers, the cool breeze winding its way past the cliffs, and the constant thumping of the ptero-bird’s heart beneath his ear. When a different noise emerged among the others, Ocelot hardly paid it any mind.

Soon enough, the noise was no longer faint, and he raised his head up, listening for it again.

A moment passed before it repeated, and hardly daring to believe it, he met the ptero-bird’s eyes and asked, “Was that you?”

Its throat bobbed and the soft chattering came again, confirming Ocelot’s suspicions. The unexpected gesture managed to cleanse some of his anguish away, and he gave the ptero-bird a watery smile.

“Thank you.”

 

**[Friday, October 11th, 1985 — 11:02]**

Ocelot ignored the newest coconut, remaining on his side and aimlessly plucking at the nest’s twigs.

The ptero-bird gave a whistle and muttered low in its throat, but he continued ignoring its latest offering. He wasn’t hungry, nor was he tired. He wasn’t emotional or in pain either.

He was just...

_Empty_.

 

**[Friday, October 11th, 1985 — 12:37]**

The ptero-bird landed and walked into his line of sight, standing in place before him.

He glanced up, seeing that the thing held in its beak wasn’t a watermelon or coconut for once. Curiously sitting up to get a better look at it, the ptero-bird bowed its head and dropped the object at his feet.

It was a soda can.

Empty but colorful, it gleamed in the light of the overhead sun as Ocelot turned it over in his hands, perplexed by what the ptero-bird meant him to do with it. It really served no practical purpose unless he were to fill it with coconut water for later consumption. Perhaps he could use it to crack open the watermelons himself? But even that seemed farfetched.

Looking up at the ptero-bird again, he suddenly understood: It was simply a present.

His eyes welled with tears and _fuck_ , why was he so emotional lately? Regardless of the cause, it was a meaningful gesture, and he stood to give the ptero-bird a quick hug. It chattered softly and ruffled its feathers as he gave it a few pats.

No one had ever given him a present before.

 

**[Friday, October 11th, 1985 — 15:52]**

There was gel leaking out of him.

The ptero-bird was gone, his abdomen hurt, and there was gel leaking out of him.

He’d noticed the wetness some time ago, and had hurriedly checked what was causing it. A cursory examination had revealed familiar gel leaking down his thighs, and he found himself wondering why it would leave him so long after the fact.

He’d removed his pants in the hope that the gel would leave once and for all, but was soon assaulted with cramps that were worse than ever before.

It had only taken him a few minutes of agony, along the feeling of something shifting within him, to realize that he was effectively going into something comparable to labor. Furious at the hand he’d been dealt, he nonetheless sat up and attempted to push out the eggs.

It soon became evident that he wasn’t getting anywhere if he didn’t take certain measures.

Flopping onto his back in exasperation, he reached down to stretch himself open, thankful for the gel’s lube-like consistency. Within minutes, he’d managed to work himself open enough to make some sort of difference. Still, it wasn’t _enough_.

 

**[Friday, October 11th, 1985 — 16:10]**

The ptero-bird returned to the nest just as Ocelot managed to work the soda can into his ass.

He was distressed enough that he didn’t care how ridiculous he must’ve looked and merely continued pushing the can into himself despite the tearing he felt. He needed to get the eggs out _now_ , no matter the cost.

The ptero-bird gave a squawk and marched over to him, head craning down to watch the proceedings.

“Nice of you to join us,” he panted, muscles quivering in agony. “Guess your present had a use after all,” he forced himself to smile, “even if it wasn’t the most practi—”

He cut himself off with a gasp when the can came to a stop, nudging at something hard within himself. Luckily, the can seemed to have slid into him as easily as could be expected, so it was probable there was yet more gel slicking his insides.

More gel meant an easier time pushing the eggs out, even if they did feel slightly wider than the can.

Shutting his eyes and angling his hips upwards, he began a steady rhythm of thrusting, pretending this was just a masturbation session like any other. The can was a dildo and the nest was his bed. There was no ptero-bird watching him.

He wasn’t about to _lay eggs_.

Pushing with all his might and continuing to stretch himself out with the can, it was less than a minute before he felt an egg moving against the bottom of the can. He sat up and renewed his efforts, and gradually, the egg traveled down, stopping just before fully exiting him.

He dug his fingers into the nest floor and took a few deep breaths, then pushed.

His ensuing scream echoed throughout the cliffs.

 

**[Friday, October 11th, 1985 — 23:24]**

The five eggs had been taken down to the ocean for a quick wash, and were currently wrapped up in Ocelot’s scarf.

He’d tucked the bundle into his shirt before getting ready to sleep, certain that like any other eggs, they’d require warmth to survive. He wasn’t apprehensive about accidentally rolling over onto them, as he’d long ago perfected the art of sleeping perfectly still.

He’d check on them in the morning.

 

**[Saturday, October 12th, 1985 — 08:43]**

Ocelot wolfed down the newest watermelon as he looked at his eggs, impressed that he’d been able to function with all of them stuffed inside.

He hadn’t been able to get a good look at them before, but now he looked his fill, eyes running over their rounded surfaces. Their shells were oddly leathery, something which gave him assurance that they wouldn’t accidentally crack if dropped.

Not that he’d _ever_ drop them.

 

**[Saturday, October 12th, 1985 — 13:18]**

Ocelot was lounging on his stomach for the first time in days, scarf strewn over his head and eggs piled together a few feet away.

His muscles were no longer tense, he’d regained his appetite, and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so good. Having the ptero-bird around would certainly help, but now that he had his eggs to accompany him, its absence didn’t grate on his nerves nearly as much.

He was just beginning to doze off when he heard the sound of wings flapping.

_Perfect_ , the ptero-bird was back.

Staying where he was and waiting for it to land down, he was taken aback by its sudden screech. He couldn’t pinpoint why, but it sounded... Off. Different.

Not like _his_ ptero-bird’s.

Apprehensively lifting his head up, he removed his scarf just in time to see a new pterodactyl, its plumage the color of the sky, landing into the nest and crushing one of his eggs beneath its foot.

_“NOOOOO!”_

His lungs stopped working, his vision blurred, and the screeching only got louder. Without thinking, he scrambled over to his eggs, scarf in hand.

Vaguely, he noted that his ptero-bird had arrived and was attacking the intruder, but he didn’t care about that in the least. He didn’t care that the combined cacophony of their screeches was deafening, and he didn’t care that there were sharp talons flying through the air above his head.

All he cared about was placing the four remaining eggs into the scarf, protectively leaning over them and resolutely keeping his eyes off of the mess that used to be the fifth.

He’d just finished wrapping them up in a bundle and tying the scarf into a knot when he felt talons clench around his torso, lift him up into the air, and begin rocketing down to the sea.

Panicking, he looked up and was relieved to see that it was _his_ ptero-bird, taking him away from the fight, determined to keep him and their eggs protected. His felt his ears pop and hurriedly unpopped them, frantically clutching his bundle of eggs close as they neared the ocean.

Ocelot was jolted back, then was surrounded by a flurry of screeches and movement. The other ptero-bird had attacked them again, and just as the realization hit him, he was being dropped. Falling directly into the ocean, he only had seconds to decide on a course of action.

As much as it pained him, just before hitting the water he tossed the bundle of eggs upwards, hoping the change in speed would ensure their safety.

And then he was hitting the water.

 

**[Saturday, October 12th, 1985 — 13:35]**

Ocelot resurfaced, frantically looking around for the bundle of eggs.

He had a short-lived moment of relief at seeing it floating nearby, and immediately swam towards it, needing to make sure the impact hadn’t damaged them.

As soon as his hand closed around it, he brought it to his face, clenching the knot in his teeth and paddling to shore, determined to get away from the distant fighting he could still hear. As much as the jungle depths set him on edge, he knew he had no choice but to take refuge within the thicket.

Finally exiting the water and running up the beach, he placed the bundle inside his shirt and ducked between the trees, making his way into the darkness.

 

**[Saturday, October 12th, 1985 — 21:20]**

The jungle was full of odd noises, and almost certainly also filled with an abundance of creatures who wouldn’t hesitate to attack him.

Ocelot didn’t care.

The eggs were safe.

 

**[Sunday, October 13th, 1985 — 01:59]**

He’d returned to the jungle’s outskirts, and though he could make out the tranquil ocean waves in the reflected light of the moon, he didn’t dare step out onto the beach.

Sitting down and leaning against a tree trunk, Ocelot succumbed to exhaustion. His eyes closed and he brought up his knees, body curling around the bundle of eggs in his shirt.

 

**[Sunday, October 13th, 1985 — 05:44]**

He awoke to the sound of his own sobbing, memories of the fifth egg’s destruction fresh on his mind.

One of his chicks had been crushed, all through his own negligence.

His naivety.

_His fault_.

 

**[Sunday, October 13th, 1985 — 07:38]**

Ocelot sat on the beach, face streaked with tears and eggs in his lap.

He’d checked them all thoroughly, and though he was pleased that they seemed to be perfectly intact, he couldn’t help thinking back to the lost fifth.

If he’d paid more attention from the start, then maybe the fifth egg would still be alright. If he hadn’t begun wrapping them up in the middle of the battle, the ptero-bird might not have had to divert its attention to his safety.

If not for him, the ptero-bird could have held its own in the fight.

As for whether it’d survived the fight, or even won it, Ocelot had no idea. For all he knew, it was recovering up in the nest. It was certainly a possibility.

But he hadn’t heard any of its usual noises since entering the jungle: Not squawking, not trilling.

Nothing.

Why could he never protect those he cared about?

 

**[Sunday, October 13th, 1985 — 09:22]**

He didn’t let himself react to the noise at first.

He’d recognize it anywhere, but that didn’t mean it was _real_. Why would it be?

It wasn’t until he saw the faint shape in the distance that he let himself hope. Could it really be?

It approached, and finally, Ocelot’s suspicions were confirmed.

Diamond Dogs had sent out a chopper for him.

He was going to go back to Mother Base.

He bundled up his eggs and stood, a tearful smile spreading his lips.

“We’re going home, babies,” he choked out, voice filled with hope. “ _We’re going home_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt: [mgs-kink.dreamwidth.org/757.html?thread=24821](https://mgs-kink.dreamwidth.org/757.html?thread=24821)
> 
> Includes a spectacular live-reading by the excellent thatkindoffangirl: [youtube.com/watch?v=JAInTbxnmm8](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAInTbxnmm8)


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